ur" of her life did not afford much scope for its indulgence,
this lady was not devoid of a certain spice of romance. She was also of
an independent character, and in the habit of judging for herself on most
matters, and had decided not to betray Bluebell's secret to her spouse.

"Men are prejudiced and unpracticable on some points," she soliloquized,
"and though I am quite satisfied that the poor girl is married, he may
choose to doubt it, or think we had better get out of her. Her illness
was entirely occasioned by the shock, so there really is no necessity to
explain my little accidental discovery."

But the plot was thickening, for that morning there arrived a letter from
Mrs. Leighton written in great perturbation, to the effect that she had
heard some very uncomfortable reports about Miss Leigh. Her information
was derived from the captain's wife at Liverpool, to whom she had written
on Bluebell's obtaining a situation, supposing that, as they had shown
her so much kindness, they would feel interested in the fact. But she had
received in return a most extraordinary letter from Mrs. Davidson,
stating that Miss Leigh had eloped from their house, leaving only a
letter containing an improbable story about going to be married, without
even mentioning to whom. Her husband, to be sure, had his suspicions as
to the lover, but the name had escaped her memory, and Captain Davidson
was at sea.

Now Mrs. Markham began to feel her innocent complicity becoming a little
embarrassing. It was rather awkward keeping a suspected person about the
children. Her husband would be in fits if he knew it, but, however
imprudent of Bluebell to elope, she still saw no reason to doubt the
marriage. Had she not the wedding-ring in proof of it?

So as she worked and planted, unavoidably decimating a worm here and
turning up an ants nest there, she conned it all over.

"The child must really tell me her secrets, or I can do nothing. I will
get her out for a drive; sitting alone in one room, as that demented old
Chivers prescribes, is the worst thing for a nervous complaint."

So the next fine morning she ordered the car, and, going to the
governess's room, asked her, in a matter-of-course manner, to put on
her hat and come out.

Bluebell had just received a visit from the local practitioner, who had
reiterated his assurances that "we wanted tone, and had better adhere to
the iron mixture; that we must not exert ourselves, and must be sure